All that ruminating the other day on the nature of social markets has left me deeply depressed. Why should I wait any longer? I said I was going to wait until May 27, 2012 to kill myself, but really, it’s pointless. Events just cascade logically toward that ultimate denouement. I can’t see any reasonable path that’s not going to end up there. Will my life really change so much?
The future is not very hard to fathom. Here is what will happen with the Swan: She is a thin, beautiful woman in her 30s who has never been married and has no kids. She is now back living in our hometown.
She is intensely desirable. In short order, she will meet a well-to-do gentleman a few years older than her. While other guys his age were off getting married and having families, this guy spent his 20s and 30s focusing obsessively on his career, and he has done rather well for himself. He’s now ready to settle down and is looking for a lovely, thin woman to hang on his arm, to have his children, and to look after his household.
He’s much too proper and respectable to snatch up some twentysomething young trophy wife; he’ll be looking for someone closer to him in age — yet still hot. The Swan fits the bill perfectly. And how will she be able to refuse? He’ll be a nice enough fellow — not some asshole. He may not be terribly handsome, but he’ll be attractive enough. And most importantly, he’ll be able to offer a lifetime of comfort and security, both for herself and her kids.
There will be a big wedding and a big house. She’ll have a nice car and lots of nice things. He will take her to many nice places, where she will be looked upon with envy and admiration. All of her problems will be wiped away with his checkbook. And she will live happily ever after, Amen. That is how things are for all beautiful women. They are kept and adored.
And fat chance for me to find another gorgeous woman to take her place and make me forget her. I’ve been looking on dating websites for the past couple of weeks and it is beginning to make me terribly cynical. I spent much of today at the park watching people; it’s Fourth of July weekend, so the crowds are out in force. And that has only redoubled my cynicism.
There is nothing, not a goddamn thing about love that is chance or magical. On the contrary, it’s brutally, depressingly predictable. There is no accident, no unfathomable reason why things pan out the way they do. Life is a raw market in which the most blessed among us are the most rewarded. Want a gorgeous woman? What have you got to offer? What have *I* got to offer? What resources, what gifts do I possess that I can redeem for the beauty I ache for?
I am not particularly good-looking. I do not have a great body. So I cannot trade on my appearance. Personality? My personality might best be described as serviceable. I am not charismatic and not very talkative. The subjects that engage my interests are things that most people find quite dull. The women who DO find them interesting are invariably those inhuman straight-A Master Race types that seem to have come out of a laboratory. They are simultaneously astoundingly attractive, brilliant, driven, and live exciting, active lives. Good grief.
So I’m lacking in looks and personality. Maybe my hobbies and interests can make up for it? Maybe I’m a fun, active guy to be around. Again, nope. I don’t play any sports and am not active outdoors. I don’t have any special, amazing skills. Shit, I like to work puzzles and build scale models (well, I used to build scale models; I’ll probably take up the hobby again if I ever live in a place that allows me to set up a little workshop). Let me know if there are any lovely ladies out there getting wet at the thought of that.
Well then there’s always money, right? Ha, ha. Shit, I have no money and no realistic hope of making any. So there goes that.
So what do I have to offer? Well, I’m a kind and decent guy. I’m very family-oriented and I love kids. I’m romantic and caring. I’m stable and honest.
I’d also add that I have a job, but I’m worried about that, frankly, because the line of work I’ve focused on for my entire working career is going to go away, and I have no idea what I will transition into. I’m terrified of that, since I’m not sure what I’m going to do to put food on the table. And unemployment is something women find repulsive.
But let’s put that aside for now. In short, I’m dull and average, and have nothing I can offer a beautiful woman, be it the Swan or anyone else.
Oh, I realize I’m being terribly unfair to women here, because not all women are beautiful like the Swan. And there is a whole world out there of nice, dull, average girls (the Dove, for instance) who would be perfect for a nice, dull, average guy like me, and I ought to learn to be happy with that, and don’t I know all those average women wish they could have a super-awesome guy, too, and you should learn to be realistic and accept your limitations and blah blah blah fucking blah.
And here’s why I really ought to hate the Swan, because you know something? There was a time when I WOULD have been perfectly fucking happy with all that. I had learned to serenely accept my fate and was peaceful and content and would have been happy to be with a simple, nice girl like the Dove. But then that BITCH came roaring back into my life and made me taste the sweet, sweet dreams I had never had the courage to dream before. When I kissed her and made out with her, I could not imagine any woman I could want more. When I thought of the mother of my children, I wanted, God, I so wanted it to be her. I wanted her to tuck my children in and kiss them goodnight. I wanted the minivan and the soccer practice and the trips to Disney World and the crying and the fussing with car seats and wiping up messes to all be with her. She made it all so magical.
Once I’d tasted that perfection, I was ruined. Nothing else would ever be good enough. I mean, if I am going to give my life to somebody, the Swan is the minimum I will accept.
But that won’t be how it will play out for me. If I go on living, I will disappear into the faceless mass at the center of the bell curve. My joys will be small, my dreams will be small — my LIFE will be small. I don’t mind that, necessarily. There are many small things I can tolerate. The love I give my life to cannot be one of them. It must be large and overflowing. It must make me a stronger, better person and must call forth my noblest instincts.
If I cannot have that, I cannot go on living. I cannot live knowing the Swan is out there in the world, having her dreams come true, while I continue to struggle with failure and disappointment.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, go ahead: Mock my stupid, pedestrian concerns. Boo-hoo for me, with all the other awful things in the world, I am tortured by the fact that I cannot have a beautiful girl. Deplore me, excoriate me, tell me how narrow and shallow and shameful I am, blah blah blah.
Here's the thing, though: I agree with you. I can step back and look at myself dispassionately and see how pathetic, how sorry I really am. And that just makes the case even more: Why the fuck should I stay in the gene pool? Seriously, what is there for me to contribute? What to I contribute to the world, to society, to the greater good? My one contribution I can see is that I love and am loved by my family. Shit. That's a reason to go on living with all this pain?
I spent today at work, trudging through my tasks, staring at the screen and feeling lonely and very, very sad. I tried to imagine it ever getting better, but every path to "better" goes through having more money, a better job, more authority — being something other than an anonymous, replaceable cog in a vast corporate engine. Not even a special cog, at that: If I break, the machine does not stop. It grinds on, oblivious to such a minor hiccup, and I'm quickly and efficiently replaced.
Beautiful women want hard-charging, ambitious men or pretty-boy studs, and I'm neither. About all I can do is sit here inside my shell and observe the world and make pithy, readable observations about it. Big fucking deal. The only thing I've got to offer is a lot of love for the right woman, and the desire and capacity to be a good and decent husband and father. Women bitch and bitch and say they can never find guys like that, but we're a dime a dozen. What they really mean is they can't find a guy like that who is good looking, rich, or exciting.
But I don't blame them — shit, they're just following their biological imperatives, the same as me. Why SHOULDN'T the Swan enjoy a nice rich husband who will take care of her, if she can get it? I am certainly never going to reject beautiful women just because less-beautiful women are less of a hassle to deal with. I have an intense, gnawing need for beauty. I need it so badly that I can taste it. It flays my mind constantly. If that thirst must forever be unslaked, I will stop it, I will end the misery, I will send a bullet into my cranium, cease feeling, and I'll see you fuckers again at the end of the universe.
There will be a big wedding and a big house. She’ll have a nice car and lots of nice things. He will take her to many nice places, where she will be looked upon with envy and admiration. All of her problems will be wiped away with his checkbook. And she will live happily ever after, Amen. That is how things are for all beautiful women. They are kept and adored.
And fat chance for me to find another gorgeous woman to take her place and make me forget her. I’ve been looking on dating websites for the past couple of weeks and it is beginning to make me terribly cynical. I spent much of today at the park watching people; it’s Fourth of July weekend, so the crowds are out in force. And that has only redoubled my cynicism.
There is nothing, not a goddamn thing about love that is chance or magical. On the contrary, it’s brutally, depressingly predictable. There is no accident, no unfathomable reason why things pan out the way they do. Life is a raw market in which the most blessed among us are the most rewarded. Want a gorgeous woman? What have you got to offer? What have *I* got to offer? What resources, what gifts do I possess that I can redeem for the beauty I ache for?
I am not particularly good-looking. I do not have a great body. So I cannot trade on my appearance. Personality? My personality might best be described as serviceable. I am not charismatic and not very talkative. The subjects that engage my interests are things that most people find quite dull. The women who DO find them interesting are invariably those inhuman straight-A Master Race types that seem to have come out of a laboratory. They are simultaneously astoundingly attractive, brilliant, driven, and live exciting, active lives. Good grief.
So I’m lacking in looks and personality. Maybe my hobbies and interests can make up for it? Maybe I’m a fun, active guy to be around. Again, nope. I don’t play any sports and am not active outdoors. I don’t have any special, amazing skills. Shit, I like to work puzzles and build scale models (well, I used to build scale models; I’ll probably take up the hobby again if I ever live in a place that allows me to set up a little workshop). Let me know if there are any lovely ladies out there getting wet at the thought of that.
Well then there’s always money, right? Ha, ha. Shit, I have no money and no realistic hope of making any. So there goes that.
So what do I have to offer? Well, I’m a kind and decent guy. I’m very family-oriented and I love kids. I’m romantic and caring. I’m stable and honest.
I’d also add that I have a job, but I’m worried about that, frankly, because the line of work I’ve focused on for my entire working career is going to go away, and I have no idea what I will transition into. I’m terrified of that, since I’m not sure what I’m going to do to put food on the table. And unemployment is something women find repulsive.
But let’s put that aside for now. In short, I’m dull and average, and have nothing I can offer a beautiful woman, be it the Swan or anyone else.
Oh, I realize I’m being terribly unfair to women here, because not all women are beautiful like the Swan. And there is a whole world out there of nice, dull, average girls (the Dove, for instance) who would be perfect for a nice, dull, average guy like me, and I ought to learn to be happy with that, and don’t I know all those average women wish they could have a super-awesome guy, too, and you should learn to be realistic and accept your limitations and blah blah blah fucking blah.
And here’s why I really ought to hate the Swan, because you know something? There was a time when I WOULD have been perfectly fucking happy with all that. I had learned to serenely accept my fate and was peaceful and content and would have been happy to be with a simple, nice girl like the Dove. But then that BITCH came roaring back into my life and made me taste the sweet, sweet dreams I had never had the courage to dream before. When I kissed her and made out with her, I could not imagine any woman I could want more. When I thought of the mother of my children, I wanted, God, I so wanted it to be her. I wanted her to tuck my children in and kiss them goodnight. I wanted the minivan and the soccer practice and the trips to Disney World and the crying and the fussing with car seats and wiping up messes to all be with her. She made it all so magical.
Once I’d tasted that perfection, I was ruined. Nothing else would ever be good enough. I mean, if I am going to give my life to somebody, the Swan is the minimum I will accept.
But that won’t be how it will play out for me. If I go on living, I will disappear into the faceless mass at the center of the bell curve. My joys will be small, my dreams will be small — my LIFE will be small. I don’t mind that, necessarily. There are many small things I can tolerate. The love I give my life to cannot be one of them. It must be large and overflowing. It must make me a stronger, better person and must call forth my noblest instincts.
If I cannot have that, I cannot go on living. I cannot live knowing the Swan is out there in the world, having her dreams come true, while I continue to struggle with failure and disappointment.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, go ahead: Mock my stupid, pedestrian concerns. Boo-hoo for me, with all the other awful things in the world, I am tortured by the fact that I cannot have a beautiful girl. Deplore me, excoriate me, tell me how narrow and shallow and shameful I am, blah blah blah.
Here's the thing, though: I agree with you. I can step back and look at myself dispassionately and see how pathetic, how sorry I really am. And that just makes the case even more: Why the fuck should I stay in the gene pool? Seriously, what is there for me to contribute? What to I contribute to the world, to society, to the greater good? My one contribution I can see is that I love and am loved by my family. Shit. That's a reason to go on living with all this pain?
I spent today at work, trudging through my tasks, staring at the screen and feeling lonely and very, very sad. I tried to imagine it ever getting better, but every path to "better" goes through having more money, a better job, more authority — being something other than an anonymous, replaceable cog in a vast corporate engine. Not even a special cog, at that: If I break, the machine does not stop. It grinds on, oblivious to such a minor hiccup, and I'm quickly and efficiently replaced.
Beautiful women want hard-charging, ambitious men or pretty-boy studs, and I'm neither. About all I can do is sit here inside my shell and observe the world and make pithy, readable observations about it. Big fucking deal. The only thing I've got to offer is a lot of love for the right woman, and the desire and capacity to be a good and decent husband and father. Women bitch and bitch and say they can never find guys like that, but we're a dime a dozen. What they really mean is they can't find a guy like that who is good looking, rich, or exciting.
But I don't blame them — shit, they're just following their biological imperatives, the same as me. Why SHOULDN'T the Swan enjoy a nice rich husband who will take care of her, if she can get it? I am certainly never going to reject beautiful women just because less-beautiful women are less of a hassle to deal with. I have an intense, gnawing need for beauty. I need it so badly that I can taste it. It flays my mind constantly. If that thirst must forever be unslaked, I will stop it, I will end the misery, I will send a bullet into my cranium, cease feeling, and I'll see you fuckers again at the end of the universe.
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